The Last Chase 51
been ripe for a supercell all day—held back by
a high cap of warmer air that, once finally punc-
tured by the surface air, guaranteed a furious
updraft. By 1:30 in the afternoon, with the skies
a moist blue, the meteorologists at Channel 9
in Oklahoma City were already forecasting that
heavy chunks of hail would pummel the region
20 miles west of the metropolitan area and that
one or more tornadoes might well rumble into
the city. The convective available potential en-
ergy had risen to an alarming 4,000 joules per
kilogram. North of El Reno a dark anvil mate-
rialized over the town of Kingfisher. A heavy
rain shaft off to the west drenched Greenfield;
farther westward a separate storm fell on Weath-
erford. All signs pointed to the storm organizing
itself into a supercell and pushing east toward El
Reno. Meanwhile a large gaggle of storm chas-
ers huddled together and compared notes at the
Conoco station in El Reno, seeking to discern
the storm’s path and thus their own.
By five the number of storms had dwindled
to three, stretching diagonally from Hennessey
at the northeast to Hinton at the southwest—a
25-mile-an-hour battering ram whose midsec-
tion was destined for El Reno. By 5:30 a large
wall cloud developed under a supercell updraft
and hovered spinning and low to the ground six
miles west of town. Other wall clouds formed
to the north, at times obscured by thick cur-
tains of rain. West of Kingfisher the first tornado
dropped, multiple vortices whirling. A second
funnel appeared near Geary.
Southwest of El Reno something else was
happening. But for several long minutes an im-
penetrable rain wrap obscured the form of the
storm. Then, at about five minutes before six,
the curtain lifted slightly, and a bloblike struc-
ture appeared, dangling like a wispy rope over
the eerily illuminated pea green farmland. It sat
there, not quite yet declaring itself—a warped
and blurry sword of Damocles twirling wickedly
over a trembling countryside.
At just before 6:04 p.m. the sword fell. An eb-
ony wedge slammed down onto the pavement of
Reuter Road and the wheat fields on either side
of it, three miles south of Interstate 40. Multiple
vortices slithered out. As the tornado material-
ized to the south, more moisture flowed into it.
The tornado remained shaggy and semicoher-
ent. It seemed, in its sluggish and muddled state,
unsure of what to do next.
Then it revealed its deadly intentions, maul-
ing wherever it went. Brick homes were pulver-
ized. A big and sturdy dairy barn disappeared
entirely. Near the intersection of 15th and South
Airport a local deputy stood outside for a bit
and watched the storm approach. When his
ears popped from the sudden loss of pressure,
he hastily ushered his family into a neighbor’s
cellar, where they sat for several minutes listen-
ing to the howling winds overhead tear their
home to ribbons.
The monster’s appetite was at once grow-
ing and oddly fickle. In the 40 or so minutes
it had left to live, it slapped bales of hay into a
wheat field, disassembled machinery and scat-
tered the parts for miles around, tossed a truck
into a pond, lopped off the entire second floor
of a home. And during its waning moments on
Earth, after savaging an RV park on the south
side of Interstate 40, the tornado crossed the
freeway, barreled into the OKC West Livestock
Market, apparently hoisted seven cattle and a 32-
foot stock trailer into the air, and deposited all of
them in a pasture a half mile south of I-40—the
trailer reduced to rubble, the cows alive with
nary a scratch on them.
But 25 minutes before that improbable feat
the storm had spewed baseball-size hail at the
town of El Reno as its funnel spun southeast to-
ward the regional airport. Just to the north, three
pairs of eyes watched its progress from a little
white car as the tornado crossed South Chiles
Road, traveling eastward at a speed exceeding
20 miles an hour. It was 6:12 p.m.
Roll the tape.
“Barely missed that airport,” observes the driv-
er, Carl Young, as the car pushes north toward
Reuter Road.
Tim Samaras answers his phone. It sounds
like a member of the media. “Yeah, yeah, the
tornado’s about 500 yards away—I really can’t
talk right now,” he says. “It’s just south of El
Reno ... It’s gonna be on the ground for a long
time, and it’s heading right for Oklahoma City.”
Samaras hangs up. The tornado to the south
has soaked up so much moisture that it has be-
come shrouded in precipitation. “It’s pretty well
rain wrapped,” Young says as he squints through
the smudged windshield. “In fact, it’s hard to tell
what the hell it’s doing now.”
“OK, stop sign up here,” (Continued on page 58)